


Lights On - Lights Off

by sallyamongpoison



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: First Kiss, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Thunderstorms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 21:59:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5801794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sallyamongpoison/pseuds/sallyamongpoison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Danse comes to Holden after his true nature is revealed and the two contemplate the reality of their situations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lights On - Lights Off

He’d taken it hard, and it wasn’t getting better. Holden had brought him back to Starlight, offered him the same bed he’d occupied before, but the man...synth. Danse. Danse looked lost. Those dark eyes, eyes like the puppy dog he and Angie had brought home last year that had run away during a thunderstorm, were so...lost. Only it wasn’t a year ago, it was two hundred years ago and last year. Still, Holden knew eyes like that. Eyes like that said ‘comfort me’ even though Danse would never say as much. Ever.

They still worked alongside each other, still made all the same motions, but Danse really was just going through the motions. It made sense: he was thrown from the Brotherhood like a bag of garbage, revealed as a synth to all and sundry, and almost assassinated by the Brothers that he’d served with. Holden couldn’t imagine. To have everything you were taken from you was traumatic, and just going through the motions was often the only thing one could do. He didn’t push, didn’t ask, Holden just...was there.

Three weeks later, during a rainstorm that sent pretty much everyone to the shared houses they’d all built, Holden lay back on the thin mattress in his bunk. It was humid and wet, water leaked in through the holes in the walls that had been haphazardly put together and up, and while the sound of rain was relaxing it was...uncomfortable. Holden didn’t like being wet, didn’t like being cut off from everyone else, and it was enough to make his mood plummet.

Dogmeat’s head lifted, nose huffing little ‘sniff’ sounds toward the door, before the knock even came. He whined, and Holden cocked an eyebrow before he got to his feet and padded over to the entryway. It was probably Preston with some sort of something that needed his attention, despite the weather, and when he opened the door to see Danse looking very much like a drowned dog he couldn’t help but blink a few times.

“Danse?”

“Can I come in?”

Of course he could. Holden moved aside, let the bigger man in, and closed the door behind them both. Dogmeat, as he often did, got up to nose at Danse’s feet which was rewarded with a wet pat to the ears. Holden had noticed that Danse seemed to like ruffling Dogmeat’s ears until his wined happily and rolled onto his back for a belly rub, and now was no different. Danse was soaked to the bone: flannel shirt clinging to him and his jeans darkened with water. It wouldn’t have been comfortable.

“Did you need something?” Holden asked, and went to his wardrobe to pull out a clean towel first, then some dry clothes to put on a chair for the other man to change into, “is...everything okay?”

Danse looked around the small private cabin. Holden had built it first when he’d decided to move everyone to Starlight from sanctuary. He and Preston and Maccready had built it, studio-sized place that it was, before they’d moved on to build the other buildings that everyone else slept in. Preston had said the General of the Minutemen should have his own quarters, a private place for people to meet and talk and for him to work on his own, and Holden had appreciated it. He’d never been much of one to share a room, light sleeper that he was after the military, and it helped to have his own space with his own bed after often weeks at a time away. Danse looked uncomfortable and wet and sad, which made him look small in the small house.

“Danse?” he prompted again.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he began, and looked around the cabin again, “and I saw your lights were on. It’s not advisable to run your power during a storm like this.”  

Ah, so that’s what it was. The man was sometimes insufferably logical. That’s when the synth part of him, Holden realized now, seemed to make more sense. That said, it was probably more the Brotherhood part of him than the synth part. Still, the man had never made it a point to come to him like this just because of some electricity advice. 

“Oh...yeah, probably,” Holden agreed with a nod before he rubbed at the back of his neck and gestured to the set of chairs that sat across from the bed. He’d found a checkerboard a while ago, along with some pieces, and had replaced the others with random caps and bits he’d found, “did you maybe want to play or something? I can’t sleep either.”

Danse grabbed the towel and wiped off his face and hands before he paused and reached for the the clothes. He met Holden’s gaze for a moment, which made pink touch both their cheeks, and Holden turned away while the other man dried off and dressed. He busied himself somehow, hands working over...something. He didn’t even know what it was, but after what felt like both a lifetime and seven seconds Danse cleared his throat. Dry and dressed. 

“Do you play checkers?”

\--

The storm worsened. Thunder rattled the walls and water poured in at the corners. Neither Danse nor Holden noticed. They were locked in eternal battle, pieces moving across the board as two very logically-minded individuals sought victory, and it was...nice. It was nice to have something to focus on.

“You don’t look at me any differently,” Danse commented after some time. They’d played in silence for a while, and the soft sound of his voice shook Holden from his concentration.

He blinked, “Why would I?” 

Danse shrugged, “Everyone has. Elder Maxson ordered you to kill me and you declined, then you invited me back here like...like the fact that I’m a synth means nothing to you.”

“Well, it doesn’t,” Holden pointed out, “I mean, it does, but it doesn’t change my opinion. I thought I made that pretty clear-”

“You’re unlike any man I’ve ever known,” Danse interrupted, “even among the Brotherhood, there’s no one that’s compassionate like you are. Some are close, but nothing like you. Is that a product of being from the past?”

That...was a good question. Holden had a fair amount of people say he was the right person that came along at the right time for them: Maccready, Cait, Piper, Hancock...all of them had smiled and told him he was good. Kind. Necessary in this world he had very little idea about. 

It was a world he’d not understood but took to like a duck to water. Maybe it was because he’d not fit in that well, such as he was, back in 2077. 

“Couldn’t tell you,” Holden answered honestly, “Angie used to say I was too good.”

“You didn’t marry her because you love her. Shaun isn’t your son.”

Leave it to Danse to point out the obvious. There were only a select few that knew that. But he shrugged and moved another piece, “She needed help and I gave it to her. We both benefited.”

“Your compassion is...admirable,” Danse went on, and looked up from the board to catch Holden’s steel-grey eyes with his dark ones, “enviable. I would envy anyone you loved.”

“Really?”

He nodded, “I’d...like to be among that number, if possible. You’ve shown me kindness I’ve never experienced.”

Well, that was an interesting statement. Holden wasn’t quite sure what Danse meant by that. As a friend? Surely. Holden would count Danse among his friends. As...something else? Sure, Holden had thought about it. Danse was an attractive man. They’d spent long weeks working together, traveling together, and his mind had...wandered. When he’d married Angie he’d had to keep certain proclivities quiet, especially in such a small town, and it had been a long time since he’d been close to another man that he’d found desirable.   

Holden opened his mouth to say something, though nothing came out, and he closed it again to gather his thoughts. When he opened it again, he chuckled and Holden reached out a hand to rest it on Danse’s arm, “You do already,” he pointed out, “you’re a good friend-”

“I’d like to kiss you.”

Oh.

Well.

“Okay.”

When Danse surged forward the checkerboard slid off the table and clattered to the floor. Holden didn’t hear it. The only thing that mattered was warm lips and a large hand tangled in his hair. he’d almost assumed Danse to be shy about it, but the man kissed him like he knew exactly how to press all of Holden’s buttons. It was warm and wet and just rough enough that Holden sighed and reached out to cup stubbled cheeks. The thought that Danse was a synth didn’t even cross his mind. All Holden could think about was that kiss and the man that was kissing him.

Finally, Holden needed to breathe. His cheeks were red, chest heaving, and he was still holding Danse’s face. The man was studying him, watching him with those dark eyes that Holden could see his reflection in. His blood was hot, hotter than the humid air and storm had made it, and he licked his lips. It had been a long time since he’d been kissed like that. Too long. Too long with too much stress and fear and fatigue. 

“It’s not advisable to have your lights on in this storm,” Danse told him again. Holden’s thoughts were a bit slow and like thick syrup so it was hard to come up from where that kiss had buried his higher brain function. He blinked, cleared his head a bit, and cocked an eyebrow.

“What?”

Danse got to his feet, gently tugging Holden up as well, before he stepped closer into his space and kissed him for another long and heated moment. Holden wanted to believe he wasn’t so tightly-wound that two kisses would completely destroy his ability to think, but there he was. Danse had stolen all of his cognitive thought.

“Lights off,” Danse instructed between kisses, “just in case anyone else gets an idea about coming to see you tonight.”

_ Oh. _

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr! @sallyamongpoison


End file.
